LOGINBy the third year of Roxanne Duranov's affair, Fredrick Tatham had finally become the husband she had always wanted. He no longer barged into hotels in the middle of the night to catch her with another man. He no longer demanded to know where she had spent the night. Nor did he resort to desperate acts of self-harm in a frantic attempt to hold on to a woman whose heart had long since drifted away. He had become as inconspicuous as an ordinary piece of furniture in the villa, quiet and unobtrusive, never making his presence felt. Then, one day, the hospital called. An urgent voice came through the phone. "Hello, am I speaking to Ms. Duranov's husband? She's been in a serious car accident and needs emergency surgery. We need a family member to come to the hospital immediately to sign the consent forms." Fredrick held the phone to his ear, his gaze fixed on the television screen.
View MoreThe camera briefly panned over the contents of the box: the button, the scarf, the ticket stubs, the sketch, and a single yellowed slip of paper.In the end, an elderly man in plain clothes, who looked as though he made his living collecting scrap, won the box for 40 dollars.He gave the camera a warm, unassuming grin. "Taking it home for my granddaughter. She likes little things like this."Roxanne stared at the screen as a strange sound escaped her throat, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. She couldn't stop laughing, even as thick tears streamed down her face and mingled with the mucus beneath her nose. She was utterly devastated.Travelers in the lounge turned to stare at the elegantly dressed woman who wept like an abandoned stray dog no one wanted.She finally understood. Her devotion, her regret, and the memories she had once treasured above all else meant nothing to Fredrick anymore. The world they had once shared was lost to her forever. Everything she had held dear had
Fredrick pushed open the car door and stepped out beneath a large black umbrella that snapped open above his head, shielding him from the raging storm.Rainwater streamed down the umbrella's ribs and dripped steadily onto the ground.He approached Roxanne and stopped three steps away. He gazed down in silence at the woman who had once seemed untouchable. Now she knelt before him, drenched and utterly broken, no different from a dog dragged out of a flood."Roxanne, all you're doing is making me pity you." His voice was quiet, yet it cut through the howling wind and rain with startling clarity, reaching everyone on the bridge. "Dying won't solve anything. Your life belongs to you, and it has nothing to do with me. Your regrets and suffering stopped being my concern a long time ago."His words struck Roxanne like a bolt from the blue. In that instant, every ounce of strength, every trace of defiance, and every last shred of hope deserted her. A few calmly spoken words had stripped he
"Love me?" Roxanne looked at Jaxon as if she'd just heard the cruelest, most absurd joke in the world. Then she hurled him straight into the wall.Jaxon screamed as his forehead struck the decorative molding in the corner. Blood gushed from the wound, and he crumpled to the floor, his body convulsing with pain as he writhed like a dying worm.Roxanne advanced on him, one deliberate step at a time. Her eyes blazed with a hatred so fierce it seemed to rise from the depths of hell, powerful enough to raze the entire world."A snake like you has no right to speak of love. Get out. Never let me see your face again. Otherwise, I'll make you wish you were dead," she said viciously. "And don't think leaving this city will put you beyond my reach. There's nowhere on earth you can hide from me."Jaxon scrambled to his feet and fled the villa, stumbling over himself in his haste. He didn't even stop to retrieve his jacket or shoes.…A month later, someone spotted him huddled in a back corn
The Duranov Group's executive office had fallen into ruin. Papers littered the floor, and shredded financial reports lay strewn across the carpet like fallen snow. Empty liquor bottles had rolled into the corners. The ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts, and the stale stench of alcohol and tobacco permeated the air.Roxanne sat slumped in the oversized leather chair, with dark wine stains on her suit collar. Her eyes were hollow as she stared at the gray, oppressive sky beyond the window.The company's stock had hit its daily limit-down for several consecutive days. Her core team had resigned one after another, and the bank's collection calls never stopped. Yet none of it seemed to reach her.She was little more than an empty husk, her spirit long since drained. She drowned herself in alcohol and sank deeper into despair with each passing day, trapped in the office that had once symbolized everything she had worked so hard to achieve.The door opened quietly. A private investig












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